Kaelen’s POV
The crowd moved like mud. Thick. Slow. Every body between me and that tunnel was an obstacle I wanted to tear apart.
My wolf was beyond reason. He clawed at the inside of my skull with a ferocity that blurred my vision and turned my blood to liquid fire. His voice was no longer words—just a constant, deafening roar of pure desperation.
I stopped fighting the current of bodies. I stopped shoving.
I used the Command.
"Move."
It came out low. Quiet, even. But it carried the weight of an empire behind it—the full, crushing force of an Alpha sovereign’s will pressed into a single syllable. The word sank into the air like a stone into still water, and the effect was immediate.
Every human within earshot flinched. Their eyes glazed. Their bodies shifted sideways without conscious thought, parting like tall grass before a blade. They didn’t know why they moved. They didn’t question it. They simply obeyed, some stumbling into each other, drinks spilling, confused murmurs rippling outward through the masses.
A path opened.
I crossed the distance to the pit barrier in heartbeats, vaulted the blood-spattered wooden railing, and dropped into the sand. My boots sank into the damp, rust-colored surface. The smell hit me from below—copper, sweat, vomit, the bitter stench of medicinal herbs that had long since stopped working.
She had fought here. In this filth. In this wet, stinking sand soaked with years of blood.
For years.
Something cracked inside my chest. Not anger. Not yet. Something worse. Something that felt like the ground giving way beneath me.
I crossed the pit in long strides and reached the tunnel entrance. A metal door blocked the passage—heavy, forged iron, painted with faded red lettering.
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
Locked. A thick iron padlock and a deadbolt.
I didn’t slow down.
My fingers found the edge of the door where it met the frame. I dug in. The metal groaned. My wolf surged forward, lending his strength to mine—wolf and man pulling in the same direction for the first time in years. My muscles burned. My shoulders strained.
The hinges screamed.
The bolts tore free of the solid stone in a shower of dust and sparks, and the entire door came away in my hands. I dropped it behind me. It hit the ground with a sound like a cannon shot, and several spectators near the pit stumbled backward in shock.
I didn’t look at them.
The corridor beyond was narrow. Low ceiling. Sputtering oil lamps flickered overhead, half of them burned out, casting everything in a sickly, stuttering yellow light. The walls were rough, unhewn stone stained with things I didn’t want to identify. The air was thick and close and smelled of old bandages, mildew, and beneath it all—blood. Fresh blood. Her blood.
My beast tracked the scent like a hound. Every nerve in my body fired at once, pulling me forward.
The first door I hit was wooden. I put my fist through the center panel without breaking stride. The room behind it was empty—a cot, a bucket, a pile of stained rags. I pulled back, knuckles split and bleeding, and kept moving.
Second door. Locked.
I drove my shoulder into it. The frame splintered. Inside—another empty room. Stone floor. A drain in the center.
I was breathing hard now, but not from exertion. From the thing building inside me that had no name—too big for rage, too raw for grief, too violent for love.
Third door. This one was reinforced. Metal frame set into the stone wall, a bolt lock on the outside.
I grabbed the frame with both hands and pulled. The stone cracked around the anchor points. Mortar dust rained from the ceiling. I pulled again, and the entire section of wall—frame, lock, wooden support beams, and all—came free in a grinding avalanche of debris.
My hands were shredded. Blood ran freely from my knuckles, dripping onto the dusty floor. I didn’t feel it.
The corridor turned. The blood-scent grew thicker. Heavier. So concentrated now that my wolf whimpered inside me—a sound I had never heard from him before.
She’s close. She’s close. Hurry. HURRY.
One more door. At the end of the corridor. Cheap, rotting wood with a rusted handle. Light leaked from beneath it—dim, yellowish.
I kicked it in.
The door exploded inward off its hinges and slammed against the far wall.

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